


Who I Am Today

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [14]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dragon Age Quest: A Bitter Pill, Hawke's Favor, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Oral Sex, Smut, Tickling, mentions of past rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 21:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10862553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Fenris doesn't have to go. And he doesn't.





	Who I Am Today

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I altered the scene we are given in Hawke's estate, because, firstly, it was never meant to be that scene if you were friendship-mancing him, but most importantly, because the idea of my character grabbing Fenris, slamming him roughly against the wall, and kissing him, squicks me the hell out. I'm sure Fenris has a lot of experience in that sort of treatment – and I have no intention of ever imagining Azzan doing it, as well.

Fenris' shoulders slumped, even as they stiffened, as if holding some great weight. The man tried to wave away what he was saying – saying he recognized who had planted this hatred of magic within him, acknowledging that it was a cruel prejudice, one brought about by the horrors he'd lived through – it was more than Azzan had ever hoped for. To hear Fenris say he knew magic needn't be hated. To know _Azzan_ needn't be hated. No matter how close he felt he and Fenris had become, hearing it made the dark edges of it soften, until the jagged wounds between them could finally heal.

Then Fenris had turned away, ready to carry the burden alone once more. Didn't Fenris realize by now that Azzan would do anything to help him bear that weight?

He reached out. It was instinct; he could no sooner have stopped himself than stopped breathing. "Fenris. You don't have to go."

As soon as he said the words, he knew the tone of his voice indicated something more. What he'd _meant_ was something more – not just a plea for Fenris to let him help, but a plea to let him do more. Be more. To let Fenris know that whenever he was willing to accept help, accept him, Hawke was ready. He had been ready for years.

But still, even as he recognized that he'd revealed more than he'd intended, he could never have expected Fenris' response. The elf turned on him, the lyrium on his skin, in his blood, flashing out its bright blue gleam. Fenris grabbed his upper arms and shoved him into the stone wall. The hard line of it beat against his back as Fenris snarled at him.

It was a reaction to everything that had happened that day. Hawke knew it, even as he reached up, his intent initially to soothe, his fingers clenching tight in that hair once he finally had the chance to touch. He surged forward, breaching the inches between their breaths until his lips met Fenris'.

His mind fuzzed. He'd never thought to do this. (That was a lie; he dreamed about it more often than he would like to admit, had been prompted by a few demons trying to use his desires against him.) But he'd never thought to instigate. And certainly not now, like this. And he hadn't known how little self-restraint he would have when the moment came. The feel of Fenris' hair, surprisingly silky, the soft strands tickling his knuckles as he held fast. The soft press of the man's lips, the hiss of his breath as it ghosted over his mouth. He could feel the heat from the elf's body, the earth-and-cinnamon scent of his skin. The lyrium, the burnt air that sizzled around them. He whimpered as his body reacted to it all, growing hard even as he feared how his offer, his admission, would be taken. The idea of rejection was what finally made him calm, made his fingers loosen. "Fenris," he murmured.

Then he couldn't speak. Because Fenris was kissing him back.

Unlike his own kiss, more a press of lips than anything else, Fenris conquered. He plunged his tongue between Azzan's lips, pushed him harder against the wall and leaned forward, using the weight of his body to keep Azzan in place. Clumsily, Azzan soothed the back of Fenris’ head where his fingers had gripped too hard, even as his blood boiled beneath his skin. His dick jumped at the soft moisture of tongue, the insistent press of Fenris' hips into his thighs. His head floated somewhere far away, his heart hammering so fast it must have pushed his brain too far away for him to reach.

Fenris' hands released his arms, only to grab his wrists and shove them down by his sides. Azzan's dick twitched. Oh. He'd never known just how often he'd stared as Fenris showed off his strength until just now. His breath ran ragged, hitched as Fenris leaned closer and rubbed his upper hip against his groin. Even through the friction of his clothes, the sensation brought him sparks of pleasure. His heart didn't seem to know whether to race, to pound, or to stop. Fenris pressed deeper, stabbing in and out with his tongue. Azzan's hips lifted, pumped, without any order from his long-lost brain. He pulled reflexively on the restraints of Fenris' hands, wanting to touch. To give back. To hold on to something as he drowned. But Fenris kept his hands down, pulling back long enough to growl a warning before changing the angle of his head and attacking his throat. A garbled sound escaped his lips. He'd never been so hot in his life.

His nails scraped against the wall as Fenris bit against the pulse point at his throat, sucking the skin with a wet sound and grinding down as if tasting something especially succulent. Azzan's hips jerked again. He couldn't remember what control looked like. All he could think about was the heat, the clawing need to give to Fenris what the man gave to him. And, of course, the heat that kept shooting lightning down to his crotch, that made the hairs on his body stand on end. "Fenris," he said again, mindlessly. He thunked his head back on the wall, uncaring about the feel of it. Thank the Maker, he thought, that his mother was on a date, Bodahn and Sandal gone to try to find this errant elf on his behalf. Thank everything he had the estate to himself. Fenris to himself.

He thought of Isabela, and some different sort of fire flared up inside him. He wouldn't let himself wonder if she had felt Fenris like this, his fingers curled tight around her, his lips leaving bruises on her skin. This was his. Fenris wanted him. Him, a rebel apostate. A mage. A man.

Fenris released his throat, only to follow the line of his tunic, licking at the hem. He groaned. "Fenris," he tried again. Those hips kept meeting his, shooting sparks through him, making the heat surge higher, higher. He gasped. Pulled once more on the bonds of Fenris' hands, though he was careful not to break their grips when he found them ungiving. Fenris leaned up to nibble on the bottom of Azzan's chin, scraping his lips and tongue over the rough stubble of his jaw. Azzan shuddered. "If – if we continue – bed?"

Fenris growled. "Yes," he said. The lyrium on his skin settled, leaving the marks dormant, their usual light, scarred color. He stepped away. One hand finally let go of his wrist, and blood throbbed down to his fingers. There would likely be bruises.

With the cool air from the room flowing between them, the slightest modicum of intellect began to return to him. He could hardly remember how they got here, but it was imperative they calm down and think. Even as Fenris half dragged him up the stairs to his bedroom, he tried to get his brain close enough to his head to recognize what was happening. He thought – he was pretty certain – they were going to have sex. This was sex time.

His heart tripped over itself at the thought.

Was it the right time? Now that he finally had a minute to think about what he was doing, he wasn't certain this was the right moment. But then they'd reached the top of the stairs, and apparently that was close enough for Fenris, because he turned his adept fingers to unknotting the sash at Azzan's waist and pushing open his robe. The tunic below nearly ripped when Fenris grabbed it at the waist and started pulling up. The nails of his armor likely punctured holes in the thing.

Azzan reached down to help, only to feel Fenris freeze. The man pulled back, recoiling as if burned. “What are you doing?” he asked. His voice sounded throatier than usual; somehow, the sound of it made Azzan lose his train of thought once more.

He opened his mouth to say he was helping take his shirt off, only to realize he'd created an aura of healing around them without noticing. He paled. "I'm sorry," he said, letting go of the magic immediately. He felt something close to sadness from his spirit. Desperately, he asked it to leave them with their privacy. "I didn't mean to. It..." He knew exactly how this would sound to Fenris. The idea of a mage losing control of his magic. "I just wanted to make you feel good, too," he said, helpless.

Something flickered in Fenris' gaze. "And you thought to use your magic to do that?"

"No?" He ran a hand through his hair, surprised to find the tie in it loosened from his press against the wall. He breathed hard and tried to think. "I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I can never think around you."

That something in Fenris' gaze changed entirely, but it was still wholly unreadable. "Will you do it again?" he asked.

"No," Azzan said, without hesitation. He would never use his magic on Fenris if the man didn't want it. He would never do anything that might hurt him. Which was why they needed to think here. Why they shouldn't keep acting like wild animals. Fenris was – Azzan could swear Fenris had been in this position before, but not because he'd wanted to be.

But if Fenris was willing, truly willing, to be here – and he had to be sure, he had to make sure Fenris _wanted_ this – then he would give it to him. All of it. Even if it was just sex. Even if it was nothing.

It was something. It would be something for the both of them.

Fenris didn't say anything, but he did come back. It surprised Azzan, who stood like an idiot when Fenris placed a hand upon his chest and pushed him once more toward the bedroom. Azzan wondered if Fenris could hear his heart, could feel the way it pounded against those tapered fingers. Perhaps Fenris could feel the way his lungs shook every time he tried to take a breath.

He fumbled at the door, trying and failing to get the thing to open beneath his suddenly slippery hands. He grimaced and twisted with his magic, apologizing in his mind to Fenris for using his magic once again. When it finally opened, he stumbled back, Fenris' deep green eyes pulling his gaze away from what he should have been paying attention to. His knees hit the edge of the bed and nearly buckled.

For the first time, Fenris stopped, unsure.

He'd been right. Fenris had known this act as something else. Something more painful, another way to enslave and torture. His heart broke at the thought, the pain and fury roiling and dying, all at once. Because this wasn't the place for those emotions.

He raised his hand and cupped Fenris' cheek. The tips of his fingers touched the long line of his ear. That beautiful ivory hair dusted his first finger. Fenris focused on him. As gently as a morning, Azzan smiled. "Take me?"

Fire. Though those eyes were green, there was nothing but fire in them when Fenris pushed him back.

With a soft crunch of the mattress, he landed on his back. He'd barely hoisted himself up with his elbows before Fenris began crawling like a cougar on top of him. Just like that, he was burning hot once more.

There was something about Fenris like this. As if the man was releasing something within him. The urge to release his magic nearly overwhelmed him. He tamped it down and reached up once more, daring to cup both hands on either cheek and gently pull Fenris in for another kiss.

The man's lips nearly bruised his as they claimed, Fenris taking enough lead to pull against Azzan's light hold and twist their lips to align more perfectly. The elf leaned down over him, until the length of his body scorched a fire over his chest and waist and legs. Azzan opened for him, let Fenris plunder inside once more. That tongue swirled around his, dug deep into him, slid along the sides of his mouth. Fenris' teeth nipped at his bottom lip, making him jump, only for that tongue to come and soothe the slight ache. And then Fenris caught his tongue with his own and _sucked_. Azzan's groan got eaten.

With his hands finally free, Azzan was able to explore the man above him. He started where he was, at the cheeks, and slid his hands down. He kept the touch gentle, reverent, afraid of hurting and bringing up memories that didn't belong. Fenris leaned into his touch, shivered when his grip traced down to his neck to his shoulders and over his armor. The feel of that metal against his chest made him jolt; the rough touch of the leather turned his skin red. He touched the leather, let his hands ghost over the odd feathers on Fenris' arm. They were harder to the touch than he’d expected. Like they'd gone through some sort of tanning, as well. Yet, as he ran one finger along the barbs of the vanes, they bent softly against the pressure.

While Fenris had shown nothing but confidence before, now there seemed to be a hint of hesitation. His hands wrapped around the sides of Azzan's chest, then shifted onto the bed to better leverage himself back up. The man gazed down at Azzan as if not half knowing what to do.

Perhaps he'd been wrong? Perhaps Fenris was as new to this as he was. Or perhaps he was as new to the idea of consensual touch as Azzan. Either way.

He trailed his fingers down to Fenris' hips, let him splay them over that subtle dip before the jut of that pelvis. Even through the armor, the thrill of being allowed to touch brought a shortness to his breath. He smiled up at Fenris. "You're all right with this?"

Fenris cocked his head. "I kissed you, didn't I?"

"Yes," Azzan said. "But are you all right with doing more?" He kneaded at the man's skin, trying to rub soothingly. Instead, Fenris shivered violently and bent down to kiss him again. The man's knee slid between Azzan's legs and rubbed. He nearly arched himself off the bed. Fenris held on tight, pushing them both back into the mattress.

The friction was nothing like when he touched himself. The leather against his pants pushed the silken fabric around, gave a rough feel to the smooth, almost liquid cloth. It rubbed along his erection, pushed the heat of Fenris' flesh into his own. He lifted up, trying to match Fenris' rhythm, chasing after that feeling. He wanted desperately to feel Fenris' naked flesh against his.

_He didn't say yes. He has to say yes._

"Fenris," he gasped, only for the elf to bend down and swallow his words. That tongue came back, Fenris' hips grinding away still. When he'd meant before to touch softly, now he gripped for dear life. This time, he managed to meet Fenris' tongue with his own, and he twirled his around Fenris' the way the man had shown him before. He didn't know if he did it well, but Fenris' hands gripped him tight, so he figured he hadn't done horribly.

Finally Fenris pulled away again. Azzan tried to get his breath back. An impossible mission, he discovered, when Fenris was working the fastenings of his armor.

They were just hands. He told himself that once, twice, turning it into a mantra as those slim digits pulled at the belts latching his gauntlets to the leather. They, when thrown, dropped to the floor with a muted thunk. Fenris' hands showed more lyrium scarring on the top, lines that led to his knuckles, only to dot at their peaks and begin again in their valleys, running down to meet as a delta at his wrist.

And as Fenris worked off the clasps of his leather, the belt at his waist, the buttons holding the front of his armor closed, finally pulling it free, Azzan saw more and more of the swirling lines. They branched from his throat to his collarbone, following the bones and dotting at the ends. From the arms came more, sinking and flowing along each line of ribs, the bones nearly highlighted by the scars. He wanted to touch them, to feel the difference between skin and scar. To lick them and see if they tasted of the electricity they hinted at.

But he didn't. He didn't know how Fenris might respond to it. To the reminder. To the idea of a fascination with that which he abhorred so much. To that which, to Azzan, seemed such an integral part of who he was.

Instead he breathed, slowly, and let himself run a single hand up the man's hip to his waist. "You're beautiful," he said, still breathless from the kiss. Fenris paused and looked up at his face. Azzan pushed every ounce of what he felt into his voice. "You're beautiful." _And I love you_. The words he never wished to say. The words that had never felt more real. They caught in his throat, sat heavy on the back of his tongue. He leaned up for a kiss, then stopped. "I need to know you're sure about this," he said. "I need to know–"

"I want this, Hawke," Fenris said, and Azzan realized he hadn't been growling, that the deep, nearly guttural rumble was a sign of Fenris' desire. "I want you."

Hawke closed his eyes as something in his chest tried to fly out. Somehow, it made the insane heat burn higher. Brighter. "I want you, too, Fenris. More than anything."

Without another word, Fenris hoisted himself onto his knees and wriggled out of his leather pants. Azzan's gaze dropped to the display.

More than even the scars, Azzan lay transfixed at the sight of those hips, of that sensual movement, the dip he'd been touching mere moments before sliding into pelvis, to long, thin thighs, power-corded, muscles clenched tight as Fenris held himself aloft. He wore a thin underpant beneath. The tight bulge beneath it set Azzan's mouth watering. He had to grit his teeth to keep from reaching out.

The shimmying should have gotten awkward once the garment reached his knees, but Fenris just leaned one-handed over Azzan and pushed down, leaning his leg up to better straddle Azzan as he loosened the leather to his ankle. He pulled it and his boot off with his other foot, then repeated the process with his other leg. Their erections brushed, stopped only by Azzan's pants and Fenris' underwear. Fenris pushed down and ground them together once more as he leaned back to use his hands to get his other boot off. His pants went the way of his shirt – somewhere to the floor.

There was no way Fenris hadn't done this before.

Azzan made some sound, something beyond the rasping breaths he'd been making since Fenris had introduced him to his own wall, because Fenris paused for a moment. "Pants," Azzan managed, and bucked up. He hadn't meant to rub his erection against Fenris' again, and when he did, he moaned. He threw his head back and forced himself not to hold Fenris in place, not to keep pumping up into that rough heat until he spun out of control.

But he didn't want Fenris to be the first one unclothed. He didn't want Fenris in that vulnerable position. Just in case.

Thankfully, Fenris seemed perfectly amenable to helping Azzan out of the last of his clothing. The elf grabbed the string at his waist and, with a surprising deftness, removed the knot holding the band tight. Fenris hooked his hands around both the silk pants and the garment beneath and tugged. Those deep green eyes turned nearly black as Fenris took in the sight of him, hard and aching, his dick bouncing slightly as it was freed. Azzan blushed, fought not to cover himself like a child.

Fenris licked his lips.

That small movement made Azzan's dick jump once more. He sucked in a breath, focused not on Fenris' own hard interest or on himself, but instead on the man above him. On the dark skin that had begun to shine with a thin coating of sweat, on the bump of muscles making up that abdomen and the lithe, stapled look of those waist and thighs. No part of Fenris' body was waste or show. Every inch existed to fight, to live. He was a product of survival, of days earned instead of simply given.

The very fact that he was there, with him, above him now, was nothing short of a miracle.

Fenris ran those hands down his sides, along the ridges of his waist to his thighs, kneading the flesh as he slid his thumbs across his legs, dangerously close to his heat. He groaned, leaned his head up, only to let it fall back down again. Fenris had the power to choose here. He would be the one to lead them this time.

And so, when Fenris slid down to lie on his knees and bent to lick at his nipples, all Azzan did was arch up, buck into that warm mouth, and moan. He moved his hands from Fenris' skin, afraid he might demand, start trying to force Fenris to move. Instead he fisted his hands in the sheets, in the curtains surrounding his bed, and yanked until he heard something rip.

Fenris leaned up and smirked at the sight of the curtain in his hands. A long strip of red curled around his fingers and lay crumpled on the bed. “Offering a blindfold, Hawke?”

Azzan flushed brightly. Not knowing what else to do with the thing, but knowing he wasn't ready for _blindfolds_ , he wrapped the cloth around Fenris' wrist. If anything, he blushed even harder as he tied it off. He tried to hide it with a smirk of his own. His fingers ghosted against Fenris' skin. “Perhaps a favor, instead,” he said.

Fenris looked at the cloth for a long time. His fingers traced the outline of red. “Little point,” he said, and stared down at him, plastering his body over Azzan's. The heat, the weight, felt like a comforting blanket. “There’s no initial, let alone an insignia.” Those hands returned. “And I'm not your championing knight.”

“I'll get you one later,” Azzan breathed, left speechless by the strength of his emotions. “And you are.”

Fenris dipped his head, either unable to accept, or perhaps too overwhelmed, by what Azzan was saying. That was fine. It was too much for the moment; he knew that. He ran his hands up and down Fenris' side, carefully not mentioning the cloth as Fenris left it where it sat on his wrist, and went back to holding something.

Fenris returned to his ministrations. He licked at the hardened nubs of Azzan’s nipples, held one between his teeth. Azzan breathed carefully, his body harder, tighter in that simple instant than it had ever been before. Fenris breathed. That small act nearly shot Azzan off the bed. He cried out, the cool air brushing over the wet heat left on his nipple. He gasped in Fenris' name. The sheet ripped beneath his hands. He flushed. He was destroying his bed.

Fenris pulled away, just enough to watch Azzan's reaction. And though he thought he should probably be embarrassed, he wasn't. Because the look in Fenris' eyes was one almost of awe. Without saying a word, Azzan knew Fenris thought him beautiful, too.

Fenris breathed on him again, and he shuddered, unable to help the nearly keening cry that escaped his lips. "Fenris," he said, about two seconds from babbling. His sheets shredded entirely, and before he could stop himself, he was reaching up and touching. His fingers swept along the back of Fenris' head, though he moved on, terrified that Fenris had once been forced into doing something like this. He reached those shoulders and curled his hands around those until his nails scraped lightly down to the ridges of the moving juts of shoulder blades.

He wanted to give back. Yet even as he thought that, all he could do was react as Fenris licked a long line from one nipple to the other, that wet muscle avoiding the part of his body that burned for him, that ached for that touch, and he was whimpering, hell, he was leaning up into that mouth, trying to bring it closer, trying to get it to touch him. He gasped with the desire to demand it, to beg for it. He bit his lip to keep the words inside. This was – this would be – every moment was Fenris'. Every part of Azzan's body had ached for this man for so long. He wanted to give it all to him.

So when Fenris wrapped his hands around his waist again, his little fingers dipping past the edge of his waist and onto the softer flesh of his ass, he merely helped Fenris lift him until they were settled once more against each other. The garbled noise he made then made no sense even to him; he wasn't certain it was anything other than his mind being eclipsed by his body.

The new position gave him the chance to reach down a bit, and he did, sliding his hands around those shoulders again to trace Fenris' chest. Fenris shuddered again, and he paused for a moment before leaving off touching him there, not knowing if the shudder had been good or bad. In either case, Fenris didn't stop licking his skin, teasing the areola until Azzan was panting and shifting in Fenris' hold, trying to find some sort of release from the fire. His hands traced down to the line of Fenris' underpants, his hips hot beneath the cloth. "Maker, Fenris, I need–" Only then did Fenris give him more, a single touch with just the tip of his tongue. He nearly screamed. He lifted up, his body trying for more, but Fenris just leaned away. He babbled. He didn't know what. Some sort of begging, some level of whining. And finally, Fenris attacked him like a drowning man, wrapping those lips around his nipple and sucking hard. Azzan held on hard enough to create folds in the man's skin. He rubbed himself against Fenris, angling his hips to scrape against the hidden length of Fenris' erection. Fenris broke off from his ministrations with a hiss.

"Fenris," he said, then again, and again, little more than a breath, his entire body straining up from the bed. His thumbs dipped below that tight band, touching the flesh beneath that last bit of clothing. A tiny part of him knew he shouldn't pull it off. It was Fenris' final barrier, and his alone to take away. But still he rubbed that hidden flesh, his thumbs reaching inwards, toward that long source of heat. His hands strained to wrap as much flesh within them as possible. He could feel the corded muscles beneath his fingers, the slight sheen of sweat on the elf's back as he worked himself back up, arching his own back to keep his lips on Azzan's chest while rutting once again.

He couldn't think. He didn't know what to do, bombarded on all sides by heat and light and a feeling like the world was sparking from the inside out. He spread his legs, following some nameless instinct. Fenris settled between them, his hands curling toward Azzan's inner thighs. The area was sensitive, so sensitive that just the man's touch had his skin jumping. Fenris nibbled down to his waist, along his sides, making his skin jump even higher. He bit his lip, but not enough to contain the laugh.

Fenris looked up.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, breathing heavily. Fenris tilted his head – and smirked. He pressed his lips to Azzan's side and nibbled again. Azzan squirmed and howled with laughter. "Ah! Fenris, oh, Maker, stop!"

Then Fenris bent down and took Azzan's dick into his mouth.

His laughter cut off immediately into a moan. The wet heat of that mouth would have been enough to destroy him, to leave him gasping, if his skin wasn't still jumping from the teasing and that tongue – if that tongue wasn't swirling in circles over the slit of the head. He curled his fingers into his ripped sheets to keep from thrashing and bucking into that mouth. He wouldn't hold Fenris' head there, force him to continue if he didn't want to or bring up bad memories. He wouldn't. Oh, Maker, but without touching the man, he felt as if he might fly into a thousand pieces.

"Fenris – let me–" But all he could reach was Fenris' head and neck, and though he let himself touch those cheeks, that temple, those bangs, eventually he gave up and just lay back once more, his mind spinning. Fenris took the chance to take him deep, until Azzan's cock was surrounded by that tight, wet space, the head of it caught in the back of Fenris' throat, the base pressed against the long, soft length of Fenris' tongue, and he groaned until his voice cracked. “Fenris,” he sighed. He forced his body calm, still, when all he wanted was to buck up, to piston in and out. To _move_.

Fenris waited a moment, likely adjusting his mouth to Azzan's length. Then he pulled up, his mouth making an obscene slurping sound, popping lightly as the head came free. Azzan squinted his eyes shut and whimpered. He wanted the feeling back. He wanted to dive into that heat, to lose himself in it. But Fenris did not return, and finally he opened his eyes.

Fenris was staring at him.

He gulped. Tried to smile. “Hello,” he said softly, and received a raised brow for his trouble. He dared let go of the sheets and wrap his hands around those sharp cheeks. He smiled again. It came easier this time, even if his body was on fire. Looking into Fenris' eyes, feeling that rough skin on his fingers, being able to trace down to the two curved lines of lyrium carved along his jaw – he had never felt such a love as this.

Fenris' gaze deepened. “You didn't move,” he said.

At first, Azzan didn't understand. Didn't move? Didn't leave, maybe? Or should he have done something?

Then he got it, and he shook his head. His hair would be in tangles come the morning. He didn't care. “No,” he said. “I didn't. Tonight, you lead.”

Fenris searched his face, for what he couldn't begin to fathom. He tried to keep his expression open, inviting. He didn't know if it worked, but suddenly Fenris was diving in, matching those lips back up with his and pulling Azzan's head forward, wrapping his fingers in his tangled hair and crushing them together. The elf rubbed his thigh against Azzan's cock, still wet from Fenris' mouth. He groaned into the kiss, his fingers clenching momentarily against the rough skin beneath them. The bright light within him grew closer, bigger with every moment they spent rubbing against one another.

He squirmed beneath Fenris, not knowing how to make the feeling go away without – without, well, just taking himself in hand and taking care of it himself. And he wasn't sure if that would be enough anymore – the burning had never been like this before.

He poured the desire, the fervor, the fear into the kiss, tried to explain with tongue and teeth what he needed. Somehow, Fenris seemed to understand. The elf finally took off his undergarment, discarding his last barrier and tossing it in the general vicinity of the rest. He lifted one of Azzan's legs – and the sight of him doing so with one hand, even though Azzan was not light by any stretch of the imagination, made him so burning hot his body felt caught in a blaze – and rested Azzan’s leg upon his lyrium-stained shoulder. Azzan's eyes popped wide at the vulnerable position. Was this – was this familiar to Fenris? Was it–

And then he couldn't think about it, because Fenris was rubbing a single finger along the nub of his hole.

Her jerked, unable to help the shock running through him. Not like he didn't know, but to actually have it happen–

Fenris pulled his hand back as if burned.

“No!” Azzan said, afraid he'd ruined things for them. “No, it's all right. Just – I was just surprised.” Fenris pulled back further, his gaze on Azzan's face, once again trying to read something there. Azzan gave him another smile. “Don't we need ointment for this?”

Fenris looked around. “Is there any?” he growled, and his voice was so low it seemed to shake the blood in Azzan's veins. His heart beat overtime to compensate.

“Yes. In the drawer by my bedside. Underneath the stack of letters.”

Fenris dutifully opened the drawer, stretching his body – and thus Azzan's leg – in order to reach it. He pushed aside the letters, either not noticing or kindly not mentioning that they were made out to his sister, his brother, his father – and pulled out the tube of ointment. It was about half-full, and Fenris held it up with a smirk.

Azzan flushed. Yes, he'd been using it more often recently. That might also have had something to do with the man above him now.

Fenris unscrewed the cap and slid two fingers inside, coating them liberally with the translucent gel. He made a surprised noise. “I've smelled this on you before,” he said, and then the words seemed to match something in his brain and he looked at Azzan with pupils blown so wide his eyes looked black.

Azzan's breath shuddered in. “I might have needed to take care of things before meeting up with you.”

Fenris exhaled. It sounded like the snarl of a predator.

He placed the ointment beside them on the bed and spread Azzan wide, coating his hole liberally with ointment, excess nearly dripping off his fingers. It was cold, cold enough to nearly make Azzan jump again. He bit his teeth and rode it out.

It was worth it. Fenris leaned forward, forcing Azzan's leg higher. His lower back lifted from the bed at the same moment Fenris grabbed his other leg and placed it on top of his shoulder, as well. Azzan keened all over again at the position; his heart hammered, his lungs seized. He'd never thought such a position would feel  _right_ . As if this was the safest place for him. He couldn't help but run his hands over Fenris' chest, over his nipples and down his arms, trying somehow to give to Fenris even a fraction of this sensation.

And then Fenris pushed a finger inside him, and the burn inside him flared back to life, reminding him of his aching hard-on.

He had only done this a handful of times before, and of course alone; he’d merely satisfied a curiosity, then had stuck with lubricating his member. He hadn’t touched himself like this since well before he’d left Lothering. It felt alien now, to have something inserted back there, and his breath hitched before he could stop it. Fenris pulled the finger out slightly, just enough for Azzan to wonder if he'd perhaps scared Fenris off again. Instead the man wriggled the finger around his entrance, only to slowly return. Coating him, Azzan realized, with as much of the slick substance as possible.

It took a while, and several times there was the flash of near-pain as Fenris breached further and further inside him. But while it cooled the edges of the fire, it never banked the flame. And when Fenris added a second finger and breached further within, touching something Azzan had never known of, he nearly shot off the bed with a scream. Only Fenris' other hand kept him from rolling them both off the bed. Fenris flashed a grin, stunning Azzan still, and rubbed that spot again. He gave a hoarse cry and bucked into Fenris' hold. His legs shivered against Fenris' heated skin.

Fenris quickened his pace then, as if he couldn't bear the wait any more than Azzan. His fingers parted, stretched him wide. It felt strange, and different, and almost painful. Perhaps it would have been more so if he didn't feel like he would explode if they didn't finish soon. Those fingers rubbed against that place every once and a while, as if reassuring him it still existed, even as they added a third to their ranks. His stomach muscles trembled with the strain of composing himself, his back aching slightly at their position. Every inch of him seemed more aware of its own physical existence than it ever had before. He found himself gripping Fenris' arms, squirming beneath his touch, babbling incoherently about whatever came into his head. He could swear, at one point, he told Fenris he looked like a tiger with those markings.

Finally, Fenris groaned loudly and slipped his fingers out. Azzan jumped again at the instant ache of emptiness that gripped him; his hands scrabbled against Fenris' arms before sliding back down his chest, hurrying down to lightly grip that newly-revealed cock as he leaned up and pulled them into another kiss. Fenris seemed desperate for the clash of tongue, his breaths heavy against Azzan's mouth. Azzan’s fingers stumbled over that long length, his thumb rubbing around the bump of the head before his need to grip something harder overwhelmed him and he moved to wrap his arm around Fenris’ waist, back up his torso to his shoulders. He lost himself in Fenris’ mouth, his scattered mind trying to mimic Fenris’ tongue. Time fractured around him.

It was Fenris' careful preparation that saved him; while they kissed, Fenris maneuvered himself into position and pressed inside.

If he'd thought the fingers an odd invasion, he was left stunned by the feel of Fenris' cock bypassing his body's walls. It was larger than he could have guessed; it felt gargantuan, even though he'd seen a few glimpses of it and it was perfectly normal. He lifted his hips higher, thinking to relieve the pressure somewhat, and felt it slip even further inside.

The slight burn remained, but that horrible emptiness had left him, leaving him full, fuller than he'd ever thought to be. Fenris was with him, in him, around him. He could smell earth and cinnamon and sweat with every inhale. Fenris' fingers clenched over his hips, guiding him ever closer, pushing inexorably further. When finally Azzan felt the heat of Fenris' sac against him, he was breathing heavily, his body torn between staying still to adjust and moving forward to beg for something more.

He'd already known, academically, what happened next. Yet, now that the moment was here, he found knowing didn't matter. His body moved on its own, chasing something he didn't even understand. For some reason, the movement of the man above him was more important than touching himself. He reached for himself, anyway, only to have Fenris curl one hand around him, the so-called favor on the elf’s wrist rubbing lightly against his thigh. Fenris held himself up with just his other arm, bent at the elbow to provide a slight leverage above him. The sign of that strength had his cock jumping once more.

Then Fenris started to move.

Azzan gasped at the feel of the man's retreat, the empty slide, the sudden compression of muscle where before there had been a stretch, an accommodation. He leaned up as well as he could, trying to get that full feeling back, only for Fenris to return to him, push him down, rush them together. Like the crack of lightning, something within him burst. He flung his head back and moved, quickly recognizing the rhythm Fenris searched for and matching it. His thighs quivered with the effort of keeping up, his back aching more and more with every push and pull from above him. Yet when Fenris found that special spot again, any idea of pain fled from his mind. He arced up into the flesh surrounding him, his mind blanking when Fenris started pumping him in time with his thrusts, each hitting him in that place that made the fire in him blaze white hot. He keened, panted, mumbled little more than pleading sounds as Fenris stopped pumping, merely rubbing on that spot, making Azzan shudder over and over, unable to get his breath, his body one long line of taut, trembling flesh as he felt the edge of that white eclipse come upon him. “I'm... Fenris...!”

Fenris didn't say anything, just grunted and went faster still, his hips simply punching in hard over and over again, the barest of retreats before he returned. Those long fingers, rough from the calluses of labor and battle, squeezed tighter around him as he pumped low at the base of Azzan’s cock. Azzan tensed, his very teeth gritted at the rush as his orgasm hit. He whined, swallowing the worst of the reaction until Fenris kissed him again, never stopping that brutal pace as he milked Azzan dry. He cried out into Fenris' mouth with every breath. The high rush of orgasm barely faded before Fenris was going faster, faster, the kiss breaking off as he panted hotly against Azzan's neck and came, as well, his seed filling Azzan with a liquid heat.

Fenris pumped a few times more, his fingers still somehow squeezing the last drop of cum from Azzan before he slowly, slowly slid out and collapsed beside him. Azzan turned to him, mouthing kisses onto his jaw and chin, finally finding the strength to lift a single hand and move Fenris' face over for a kiss. It was slower, this time; apparently, Fenris had used up the last of his own endurance, because the man barely managed to lick at Azzan's tongue before breathing, “we should clean up,” and moving to get up.

Gently, Azzan pushed him down and stood, himself. He gave Fenris a bright grin. “Let me.” Fenris just blinked blearily at him as he moved to the washbasin at the side of the room. He grabbed a cloth and dipped it in the water, cleaning himself off as lethargy began to claim him. He rinsed it out and held it in his hands until it was warm enough to bring back to Fenris, then took care of him, too. Fenris' breath was beginning to even out. Azzan tossed the cloth in the hamper, then climbed in beside Fenris and pulled the covers up. With one finger, he traced a path along the man's bangs. When Fenris didn't make to pull close to him, he contented himself with lying there, watching until the fire banked too low to see the elf past his own shadow. Only then did he give in to his body's demand for rest.

* * *

 

When he woke, Fenris was already out of bed. His heart pounded up to his throat at the thought of the man leaving wordlessly in the night. He sat up quickly, only to find Fenris leaning heavily against the fireplace mantle. The man was fully clothed.

His heart sunk into his chest.


End file.
